


The Unfamiliar Road

by theskywasblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29362473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: A hunters' wedding - a beautiful end to a difficult year.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	The Unfamiliar Road

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you write a thing because you have _feelings_ , and maybe you're not that happy with how it turned out, but you wrote it anyway.

Warm spring sunlight bathed the hills surrounding the bunker in a gradient of white and gold. towering trees, worn with time, tangled shrubs and wild grasses stretched themselves towards the light, spread their leaves, hummed in the faint, cool wind. The peak of the power plant’s roof, just visible over the rise, was dappled with green, gold, and grey, its worn tiles rippling like water.

“Cas - hey.” Cas flinched, blinked, suddenly aware of Dean’s hand on his arm, pulling him gently from his reverie. Dean’s sun-spattered face was set with the shadow of worry. The light made his eyes jewel-green, sparked against the constellations of freckles on his cheeks. “You good?”

“Yes,” Cas said, too breathlessly. Dean’s lips set themselves into a tight line.

“You sure? Cuz you’re spaced out with a mallet in your hand and it’s kinda freaking me out right now.”

Cas glanced down at his hand, at the rubber mallet he held in his loose fist, the tangle of woven bracelets - once Dean’s - around his wrist, the scar on his forearm from a fall he had taken last year. “Sorry - I was distracted. It’s a beautiful day.”

“Yeah,” Dean tilted his face to the sharply blue sky, shielding his eyes with one hand. The light brought out the gold in his hair - and the spreading streaks of silver. “It’ll be great. if the weather holds. And if we manage to finish getting this tent up.”

The canopy stood half- completed, over the patch of grass that Dean had painstakingly mowed two days ago with a rented riding mower. The sharp tang of cut vegetation still lingered in the air. They had all the poles in place, but the supporting lines still needed to be staked in. 

“Right, of course.” Cas tightened his grip on the mallet, but Dean’s hand caught him by the wrist. 

“Hey - c’mere a minute,” Dean murmured, voice low and gentle, guiding Cas in until he could bump his nose against Cas’s cheek, breath soft against his jaw. “You _sure_ you’re good?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dean laughed, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Okay. Cuz you know, Sam’s the one who’s supposed to have the jitters. He’s getting married.”

“And what about you?”

Dean hesitated, a slight shiver of tension running through his shoulders. “What about me?”

“Do you have _the jitters_?” Cas pressed, though it hardly seemed necessary to ask anymore.

Dean’s laughter was soundless, just a puff of air against Cas’s cheek. “Yeah. I mean, a little. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled, face pressed tight into Cas’s neck. He swayed slightly, as if to unheard music. “We both did.”

Abruptly, the otherwise still air shifted, like a pool disturbed by a falling stone. It was a sensation that Cas was still getting used to experiencing from the perspective of one who has their feet rooted to the earth. “Sorry,” Jack said, appearing just a few paces away near the slumped side of the canopy. “I don’t want to interrupt, but Donna says Sam is having a crisis.”

Dean sighed, stepping reluctantly out of the loose circle of Cas’s arms. “‘Course he is. I’ll get him settled. You two can finish this, right?”

“Of course,” Cas said. “We’ll get Claire and the others to help us move the tables and chairs.”

Dean surveyed the clearing once, a last look-over that betrayed his own nervousness. Cas knew that he hadn’t slept well at all the last few days, wrapped up in the idea that he had to make everything perfect. Finally, Dean leveled a warning finger at Jack. “No mojo, got it? Do it the old fashioned way.”

“But I could -“ Jack began.

“No,” Dean repeated firmly. “I’ve got my eye on both of you.”

“Go,” Cas countered, gesturing emphatically - perhaps vaguely threateningly - with the mallet still gripped in his hand. “Look after your brother.”

“Been doing it for thirty-eight years!” Dean called over his shoulder, as he began his hike down the hillside. 

Once he was out of earshot, Jack looked over the half-assembled canopy and asked, “could I?”

Cas tested the weight of the mallet. He didn’t really relish the idea of driving stake after stake into the hard, dry ground by hand - but for Dean it was the very physicality of such an act that demonstrated his love for Sam and Eileen; it was a manifestation, like the food he had helped to prepare for the reception, brimming from the Bunker’s fridge, crowding the counters, decorated with a chaotic scattering of colourful sticky notes warning off thieves on pain of death (though Dean had let Claire and Kaia sample some of it, when they had arrived late last night, arguing that there wasn’t anything else in the fridge, that he couldn’t let them go hungry, and then badly masking his pride at their pleased grins and licked-clean fingers.)

“Just the canopy,” Cas relented, returning the mallet to Dean’s discarded toolbox. It was difficult to resist Jack’s earnest smile - and anyway, the use of _mojo_ as Dean called it still required effort - just effort of a different sort.

Between one moment and the next, the canopy was made to stand, casting a wide patch of shade across the sun-warmed ground. Jack added the ribbons of white string-lights without being asked. The dull static buzz of divinity lingered in the still air.

“You are getting quite good at that.”

“Thank you,” Jack beamed, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet.

The chairs and tables were a much longer affair, though Claire and Kaia proved capable assistants, even when Jody appeared halfway through the effort and enlisted Kaia to help decorate the display behind the head table. When they had trouble getting the flowers to stay in the standing trellis, Jack was only too happy to provide his help as well - coaxing the flowers to sprout long spirals of vibrant green vines with a judicious application of grace.

***

The bunker was starting to feel crowded. Dean popped his head briefly into the kitchen to check on the food situation - relieved to find his hard work untouched - before making his way down to Sam’s room.

_Sam and Eileen’s_ room, he corrected himself - which it had been for a while now, familiar and easy; but lately every time he thought about it Dean felt like he was in a whirlpool - a maddening mix of fear and pride, joy and even a little guilt. Sam had reassured him again and again that he and Eileen weren’t planning on leaving the bunker - they wanted to stay; thing was, Dean wasn’t sure if _he_ wanted to.

He hadn’t decided on anything - hadn’t even broached the subject with Cas yet - but he’d been browsing, casually, listings in Lebanon and the surrounding area, just getting a feel for what was out there. He was even starting to warm up to the idea; he just wasn’t sure quite how to tell Sam, yet.

Not that today was the day to do it. Maybe tomorrow, or in two weeks, or a month. Once Dean had the chance to work the sharp edges off of it. He was getting really good at _want_ ; still not all that good at _have_.

Donna was waiting for him outside Sam’s door, looking lovely in a soft blue summer dress, even with her hair still half in curlers. “Just a little bit of the cold feet,” she said, brightly as Dean approached. “Everybody gets ‘em. Figured he could use a pep talk.”

Dean saluted, lazily. “Got it covered. Love the dress.”

“Aw, thanks,” she beamed at him, heading back down the hall with a spring in her step.

Dean pounded solidly on the closed door, shouting, “Sammy - you decent?” but stepping inside without actually waiting for an answer. Sam was mostly dressed; he and Eileen had opted for a basically casual dress code, playing to their audience, so Sam wore his nicest pair of jeans and polished his boots to go along with his dress shirt, his currently unknotted tie, and his unbuttoned vest. He stood in front of the full-length mirror he’d pulled from one of the bunker’s supply rooms, rehearsing his wedding vows with shaky hands.

Dean squashed himself between Sam and the mirror and started doing up the buttons on his brother’s vest. 

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam tried to argue, sounding pained.

“Rehearsal's over Sammy - it’s go time.”

Sam scowled, squirming under Dean’s attention like he was still in kindergarten, and Dean was trying to get him dressed for school. “You’re not even dressed.”

“I’m also not the groom.” Sam paled, cheeks fading to the colour of a dirty dish rag. Dean thumped him on the chest. “Hey - you got this man. You haven’t managed to scare her off yet, so you’re set.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m serious.” Dean shored himself up, frowning at the tie between his fingers. He wasn’t used to doing this - and even less used to doing it for someone else. “You and Eileen are good. You’re gonna be good.”

Sam huffed, shifting from one foot to the other, rolling his eyes. “I know, Dean.”

“Well then,” Dean gave the tie a final tug to straighten it, and clapped Sam twice on the chest. “Stop worrying so much about it. Right?”

Sam flashed him a smile that could be best described as _watery_. “Right. Okay.” He let out a long breath of air and made an aborted motion with his arms, like he was thinking of going in for a hug, but gave up at the last second. Dean looked up at his ridiculously tall little brother and for an instant - just the space between one blink and the next - he was _Sammy_ again: a cherub-cheeked little baby, reaching for Dean from the bottom of a rickety motel crib.

Dean took a quick step sideways out of reach, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’d better - ya know - get dressed.” He had his hand on the doorknob when Sam called his name. Cautiously, Dean turned back. “Yeah?”

Sam looked down at his hands, picked at his tie. “Thanks for the - uh -”

“Yeah, no problem.”

***

Halfway through Sam’s vows, it started to rain, even though the sky remained completely cloudless. Droplets pattered on the canopy for a moment, almost unnoticed, until Dean reached over, palmed the back of Jack’s neck, and gave him a reassuring shake. 

“C’mon kid, keep it together.”

Jack snuffled loudly, wiping at his face with both hands. “Sorry - I’m just so _happy_.”

The rain got louder. A ripple of gentle laughter went up from the crowd in the chairs behind them. Suddenly, Dean’s eyes shone wetly too, and he rubbed his face quickly on his sleeve. Cas reached over and pressed his palm to the small of Dean’s back, which seemed to make the whole thing both better and worse. He could feel Dean trembling, faintly, beneath the pressure of his hand.

“ _Guys_ ,” Sam said, fondly exasperated. Both he and Eileen were wearing almost identical gentle smiles. “C’mon.”

Cas waved them off. “Please - continue. They’ll be fine.”

Another bubble of laughter rose up from the guests - warm, understanding, affectionate. Cas slid his arm around Dean’s shoulders, feeling him shaking beneath his stiff new shirt with barely-held emotion, pressed his face into Dean’s shoulder, and listened to the end of the vows, lifting his head as the officiant announced: “You may now kiss the bride,” just in time to see Eileen surge up on her toes to kiss Sam first. The assembled crowd burst into riotous applause and whistling. Dean made a sound that was half laughter and half joyous sob. 

Sam and Eileen were meant to walk back down the aisle together - at least as Cas understood the process - but instead, Sam took three great strides to the front row of chairs, and, laughing, hauled Dean to his feet and into a crushing hug. Dean managed only a croak of protest as Sam reached over and pulled Jack in, too. Dean and Eileen both pulled Cas in to complete the tangle of laughter and limbs.

It seemed a very long time before they broke apart, to allow the proper ending to the ceremony, leaving Dean leaning heavily on Cas’s side, tears hidden in Cas’ hair. 

***

After dinner, as the sun began to dip, bathing the bunker and its surrounding wilderness in soft, orange light, Jack surreptitiously lit the string lights, both he and Cas realizing almost too late that they had forgotten to connect them to any traditional source of power. Dean was absorbed in a conversation with a hunter that Cas didn’t recognize, and so he didn’t notice - or at least Cas thought he didn’t. Eileen pointedly _did_ notice, and openly laughed. Her face had a permanent flush of joy that mirrored Sam’s. It was impossible to look at them and not feel light, and warm with happiness.

The night quickly came alive with laughter and music. Tables were moved to make way for a sort of impromptu dance floor in the grass, and people clustered together, talking, drinking. Cas lingered near the edge of the canopy, watching the scene, nursing a beer; enjoying the whole thing more by osmosis than participation.

It had often seemed a long and difficult year, since Chuck’s defeat, since Cas’ return from the Empty - learning to exist in the new, seemingly precarious world: Jack’s powers and his own lack of them; he and Dean learning to navigate the new world open to them with a frankly unsurprising lack of finesse. That was all falling away now - to be replaced with _this_ : happiness. Everything that came before was not erased, but carefully shelved.

After a while, he heard Dean approach behind him - familiar footsteps, a huff of breath. An arm slipped around Cas’ waist, and Dean leaned into his shoulder.

“You let Jack use his god mojo to set up the tent, huh?” Dean said, amused.

Cas feigned innocence, with little success. “How did you know?”

Dean hummed, fingers drumming against Cas’ belt. “Maybe cuz half the ropes aren’t staked in, but the thing still hasn’t dropped on anyone’s head.”

He hadn’t actually considered that. “He just wanted to be helpful.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s a good kid. He might even make a good god one day.”

“If that’s what he chooses.” They had all agreed it would be up to Jack, ultimately, whether he kept the lion’s share of Chuck’s power, or surrendered it - though surrendering it was a complicated problem, something they were still researching. They didn’t want to risk upsetting the precarious balance of their little universe, or opening a power vacuum that might give rise to a worse despot than Chuck. Until Jack made his decision, he remained both a divine amphora and a boy learning to enjoy a relatively normal human life. 

For now, Rowena was working very diligently to teach him how to dance. Jack wasn’t showing much aptitude for it, but he seemed to be enjoying the process; his face decorated with a smile that had hardly slipped in hours, his shy laughter sometimes audible over the music as Rowena coaxed him into increasingly complicated steps.

Dean sighed, tucking his chin more tightly into Cas’s shoulder, whiskey-sweetened breath warm on Cas’s cheek, the curl of his arm around Cas’s waist gentle, but secure. Cas allowed himself to lean back into him, trusting Dean to keep his footing.

“Damn man - look at them,” Dean murmured, swaying slightly on his feet. “Never thought I’d see it.”

He wasn’t looking particularly at Sam and Eileen, but the entire scene before them - their friends, their family, relaxed and joyful; celebrating a milestone that had once seemed impossible to reach.

And he was still swaying, rocking Cas in his arms.

“Would you like to dance, Dean?”

Dean laughed, nervously, his grip tightening slightly in a sort of reflexive panic. “I dunno man. I’ve never done it before. I don’t know how.”

“Neither do I,” Cas reminded him, gently slipping from his arms, taking a grip on his arm, pulling him towards the dance floor before Dean could think better of it. “I’m sure we can figure it out.”

***

Dean stumbled as they reached the near-center of the cleared space, hesitant, feeling exposed; but Cas looped his arms around Dean’s neck, and Dean’s hands found Cas’ hips by instinct, and that was basically it. He closed his eyes, shifted himself to the music, waited for the dizziness to subside.

He hated it, the way something inside him still hesitated around Cas. It never happened when they were alone - though the first time he and Cas had tried to do anything under their clothes, Dean hadn’t been able to keep his head in the game and they’d had to hit the brakes - but out in the open, it was different; Dean couldn’t help but wait to see if the other shoe would drop, if someone would say _something_. But no one here would do that; these were friends - his _family_. He forced his shoulders to relax.

“Dean,” Cas’ fingertips tickled the back of his neck. Dean opened his eyes. Cas’ was watching him, carefully, his eyes startlingly blue, like that morning’s sky. Like grace. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah I’m - “ _fine_. No. He was good. He was great even; and it occurred to him - maybe for the first time - that it had been weeks, or even months since he’d had to say _I’m fine_ without meaning it, and drag himself along by his teeth. He pulled Cas closer, into an awkward, but enthusiastic half spin. Cas only barely managed not to step on his toes, laughing helplessly.

“Careful old man,” Claire heckled from across the dance floor. “You might actually break a leg!”

“Like hell! You’re just jealous of my moves!” He gave Cas another spin, and laughed at the way Claire rolled her eyes, trying to hide her smile.

***

The celebrations became more raucous, and somehow more joyful as the night wore on. Claire tempted first Dean, then Jack into some kind of drinking game. Dancing gave way to karaoke (where the machine came from was anyone’s guess, but it smelled faintly of brimstone.) Jody and Donna had to step in when a knife-throwing contest got a little bit out of hand (Jody won, in the end); and clouds of fireflies, their phosphorescence somehow perfectly coordinated to the wedding colours, swirled dizzyingly through the night sky.

At some point, Cas glanced up from his drink and realized he did not know where Dean was.

He scanned the clusters of guests, spotted Sam and Eileen at a table filled with hunters, both red-faced with laughter; Garth, stretched between two folding chairs, soundly asleep; Jack, with Jody’s girls, engaged in a very serious card game that also seemed to involve a large bottle of whiskey. Cas left the cover of the canopy, and began a slow descent of the hill in the blue-dark. The night was warm and the distant sound of music and laughter made everything dreamy and strange. _Too many drinks_ , Cas thought, idly. He still forgot sometimes that alcohol was meant to have this kind of intoxicating effect; it could catch him off guard if he wasn’t careful. Still, he made it down the hill, safely, to the bunker’s entrance, let himself in through the massive door...and there he found Dean, sitting perched on one edge of the war table in the semi-dark.

“Sorry,” Dean said almost immediately as Cas came down the stairs. “I was gonna come right back, but I - needed a break, I guess.”

“That’s alright.” As he drew closer, Dean reached out and took him by the arm, reeled him in until they were face-to-face and knee-to-knee. Drowsy warmth radiated from him, and he smelled sweet and wild, like cut grass and beer and cake frosting. “It is - a lot, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” a slow, huge smile spread over Dean’s face. “It’s good though. It’s good. They’re happy. That’s what I always wanted for him, ya know?”

“I know.”

Dean’s grip loosened, his fingers skated down Cas’ arm, seemed to hesitate when they reached his fingers, then pulled gingerly away.

“You ever think of doing something like that?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. The strange acoustics of the bunker carried the words nevertheless.

“A wedding?” Cas asked.

Dean shrugged, nodded, his gaze pointedly averted, his hands curled into fists on his lap.

“Any kind of ceremony or ritual we might perform would be purely symbolic,” Cas offered, tapping the pads of his fingers against the back of one of Dean’s hands, tracing the edges of his knuckles. “No human vow could match the act of lifting your soul from the blackest pits of hell. I knit your body together with tendrils of my own grace.”

Dean huffed, “Not to brag or anything.”

Cas continued, undaunted. “We have fought for one another - and _with_ one another. We have shed blood -” Dean’s shoulders curled, guiltily. Cas pressed a hand to the back of his neck. “My hands have lain upon every inch of your skin, for purposes for carnal and divine -”

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean’s voice cracked. He lifted his head, looking stricken, almost, though his mouth twisted in a fractured smile. “What have I told you about saying that kind of shit?”

“That I shouldn’t,” Cas pushed a hand, gently, through Dean’s hair, traces of hair gel making the strands prick against his palm. “Though it is the truth.”

Dean looked at him, calm, perhaps slightly reverent, though he could never confess it. His eyes were very bright in the low light, his lips parted slightly. Cas wanted to kiss him, but didn’t.

“Historically, marriage served as a financial and social contract rather than an act of love.”

Dean ducked his head with a soft huff of laughter. “You can just say ‘no’, Cas. It’s fine.”

“I would never say that.”

Low, familiar silence settled around them. They watched each other, without speaking; patient, thoughtful. Dean’s hands relaxed and he rubbed his palms down the length of his thighs, measuring the course drag of new denim against his skin. Cas could have let the conversation end there - they might never speak of it again, or it might surface, sometime, on a quiet night while they shared a drink or watched a movie. Now that Dean had it in his mind, he would put it away for a while, but continue to work at it in secret, the way hands worked a ball of clay, into a shape he could recognize.

Or, Cas could hurry the process along a little, by refusing to let Dean put it away so soon.

“Would you like to have a wedding, Dean?”

He laughed, immediately, cheeks flushing dark. “Nah man, That’s not for me.”

“You used to think the same thing about us.”

Dean’s laugh turned ragged. “Hey now. So did you.”

“I’m glad to have been wrong,” Cas offered, with half a smile. He tried not to well too much or too often on the actions of his past (it was a very, very long past, after all) but he sometimes wished he could offer that past version of himself, the one that had surrendered to a tiny fraction of what he thought happiness could be, some of what he felt now - quiet, warm, increasingly familiar and comfortable - which wasn’t like that old happiness at all.

“Yeah, me too.” Dean slid his arms around Cas’ back, leaned in closer. “C’mere you smooth-talking sonuvabitch,” he drawled, pulling Cas into a slow, gentle kiss. When they parted, he turned his eyes upward, towards the landing and asked, “Do you think those party animals are going to miss us?”

Cas tipped his head, thoughtfully. “Not immediately. They seem to be enjoying themselves.”

Dean slid off the table, forcing Cas to take a step back to make room for him - but not far. Dean’s hands remained securely at his waist, steering him carefully towards the hall as Dean leaned in for another kiss - equally tender to the last, but with an edge of excitement.

“Then why don’t we see what _carnal purposes_ these hands can get up to, huh?”

-End-


End file.
